Duty
by Instead of Reality
Summary: Ermelian of Aminar must marry Cleon of Kennan to save his people from starving. However, Cleon is still hopelessly in love with Keladry of Mindelan.
1. Chapter 1

**Duty**

A Tamora Pierce Fan-Fic

**Summary: **Seventeen-year-old Ermelian of Aminar is the daughter of the wealthiest family in the district. Since she was little, she has been betrothed to marry her mother's dearest friend's son. And now with the recent spring floods from the Lictas River that destroyed many fiefs' grain stores, she and this Cleon of Kennan must be married post-haste, in order to save his people from starvation.

**Author's Note:** I do not own nor live in Tortall, much to my unhappiness. Copyright goes to Tamora Pierce.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

I study myself in the mirror. A girl, a familiar face, stares back at me. She is young-looking, with pale skin, offset by wavy hair that is too dark to be auburn but too light to be rich brown. Her face is round, and well enough, I suppose. The only special thing about her is her eyes—a clear, dark blue. I watch that girl's eyes, looking for any sign of emotion that might betray her. She is scared, but only those who know her as I do can tell. To others, she appears calm and serene, pretty. But underneath her skin—_my _skin—she is trembling.

"It's time."

I turn quickly at the sound of the voice. Annelien, my sister-in-law, breaks my peace. Her entrance shatters the calm I have created for myself and my panic grips my stomach.

"Anne, what if he doesn't like me? What if he thinks I'm too ugly or young? What if—"

"Meli, if you ask one more 'what-if' question, I will go downstairs and tell your betrothed that your family nickname is Melon."

I smile weakly. Annelien may be older than me by three years, but she is my best friend. She is lovely, with her dark-blonde curly hair, twisted elegantly into a crown on her head, her red gown bringing out the green in her eyes. _She_ has nothing to worry about. _She_ is not to meet the man she is to marry, someone she knows only from a distance. _She_ is not dumpy and short and pale.

"Ermelian," she says gently. I will not look at her or I will cry. And as she and my mother have spent hours on my face paint, I cannot ruin it. "Ermelian, why are you crying? Silly, he will love you. You are beautiful and kind. Anyone who knows you loves you—he will see that even if he is only half as smart as Lionel."

I cannot help but smile at this. Lionel is my brother, Annelien's husband. He is known for thinking before speaking and saying addled things.

"Meli, love, everything will be okay. It is not the end of the world." Her soothing noises help me. I smile at Anne, grateful to her as always.

"I'm silly," I tell her. "He has to marry me, or else his people will starve. And he's not going to fall in love with me faster if I sit here and cry."

"There's our Melon."

I stick out my tongue at Anne. "If you tell him, I will tell everyone about the time you and Lionel…"

"All right, I promise."

Laughing, she takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet. She pats down my gown, the same blue to match my eyes, and twirls me in a circle. I have to admit, I look pretty. Had I been entering court I would not have been nervous to find men's eyes upon me, but _this_ man is the one I am to marry.

Gripping hands, Anne and I rustle down the corridor and then down the grand steps that enter into the foyer. Our home is elegant, as we are one of the richest fiefs in the district. Another reason my marriage is so close at hand. Recently, in the spring, many fiefs had lost their stores to the spring floods, one of the most badly hit was Fief Kennan—and my betrothed is Cleon of Kennan. He needs to marry me to be able to keep his people from starvation. Neither of us has a choice about it and today is the day the contract is to be officially sealed.

As we descend the steps, I survey the crowd below. There is Father and Mother and Lionel, beaming at me, nodding their encouragement. Besides them are the local magistrate and Lady Gaia of Kennan, my mother's best friend. And with her is a tall, young man with red hair and solemn eyes. He stands at attention, his eyes on me.

We reach the bottom stair. Anne squeezes my hand and takes her place at Lionel's side. I now face the assembled group. They all look at me expectantly. I approach, mustering all the grace I can, plastering my prettiest smile over my features. I curtsey to Lady Gaia first.

Her smile is kindly and her eyes twinkle at me. This merry lady is one much to be esteemed, as she has managed her fief ever since the death of her lord some years ago. To have found approval with my mother-in-law-to-be is good; it is far more wonderful to be the daughter of her closest friend. I turn to Cleon and curtsey to him, but I cannot make myself look him in the eyes.

Mother speaks softly to Cleon. "May I present my daughter, Lady Ermelian of Aminar. Ermelian, this is Sir Cleon of Kennan." Once again I curtsey, and he bows— stiffly, I notice. I now force myself to look at him. He is _big—_tall and muscular, his shoulders so very broad. His hair is a ruddy red-orange and curly. His eyes are grey, but so solemn. I wonder what he thinks of me as we face each other. I am a midget compared to him. I find myself wondering how he would kiss me. This thought causes me to giggle as I imagine him bending in half. He is startled by my giggle. I blush, and bow my head, examining the marble floor. Our parents have been speaking all the while. I try to attend to their conversation.

Lady Gaia turns to her son. "Lord Asvin, Lady Leona and I are going to discuss matters with the magistrate—you and Ermelian should go and get reacquainted."

Were we ever acquainted, I wonder. We've met briefly at parties, especially during the Grand Progress, but we were always wrapped up by our crowds of friends. Does that count as acquaintance?

"Yes, Mother." He speaks for the first time, his voice is a rich baritone, soothing, comforting, friendly. And yet, there is something in his voice that I thought I saw in his eyes—a reluctance.

The adults disappear into the study. Turning to Anne for support, I see her and Lionel sneaking out the door. Some friends they are, I grumble. I turn back towards him—what am I going to do? I smile timidly. What do I say? Should I give him a tour? Oh Goddess, what shall I do? Panic wells up in me as I frantically try to think of something civilized to say.

"Hello." Ah, yes, my brilliant strategy lies before me.

He glances at me. "Hello."

"How are you?" I am persistent.

"Fine, thank you. How are you?" He is formal, stiffly formal.

"Just wonderful," I mutter under my breath.

"What?" He has heard me. I blush, ashamed at the breach in lady-like etiquette.

"I'm doing wonderful," I say, desperately trying to recover my poise.

He starts to say something, but stops. He nods once and we return to silence. I scramble to think of something to say, something to preserve that last shred of hope that our marriage will not be a dismal failure. If I were any other girl, if I were like the Lioness, or lady knight Keladry, or queen Thayet the Peerless, or even Annalien, I'd find some way to communicate with this man—this boy. I'd flirt and draw him out of his shell and soon he'd be wondering what he'd ever do without me. And me, I'd be falling in love with his arms and his smiles and his eyes, but never letting on. But alas, I am trapped inside myself. I cannot find the proper thing to say on such occasion.

"Goddess!" I say, surprised to find that I've cursed out loud. He looks at me, spooked out of his reverie.

I blush. "I apologize, s-s-sir. I did not mean to startle you."

He smiles curtly and turns back to staring at the wall. I breathe in, steeling myself. "Look, I know we don't know each other well—at all. But I think we should get to know each other. I mean, we are to be married after all."

His eyes widen in surprise and my jaw drops. I have never made a speech so…_bold_ in my life. And his eyes…oh for one moment, his attention is on me, solely on me. My heart drops and then lurches to life, beating wildly. His eyes are not flat grey, but a grey that suggests depth, like a pool on an overcast day. I am pulled in by those eyes for a moment, but he drops our gaze and looks away.

"You're right."

"I am?" About what? What did I say? I cannot remember anything, except those eyes.

"We _should_ get to know each other. We _are_ going to be married soon. I have a duty to my people."

_I have a duty to my people. _Those words fall like stones on my heart. He is not going to try to love me—he is here because he has to be. Because it is his responsibility, his _duty_. I hate that word. _Duty. _

I nod slowly, pretending agreement. Inside, I know I am stupid—I know that I am marrying him because it has been agreed upon—it is my _duty_ to be his wife. But here I am, trying to be open to this situation, trying to give us a chance at happiness, maybe even love. I've had my fantasies of knights in shining armor, true love, and all that nonsense. I'm sacrificing a season at court to marry this, this _knight_ to help save his people. For Mithro's sake, he could be grateful! He sounds as open to the idea as a plank of wood.

"Tell me about yourself," I say, gently, the picture of femininity. I will get this bump to speak to me till I die.

He looks dubiously at me. "What do you want to know?"

"What are your friends like? What is it like to be a knight? I don't really know—but I think it's your turn to talk."

Astonishment flashes across his features. "Err…umm…my friends are mostly other knights. As a page and squire, we had a study group. We have book-learning as well as training as pages. And we had a group where we, uh, got together to study. Mostly it was of…uh…Neal of Queenscove, Prosper of Tameran, Faleron of King's Reach, uhhhh… Esmond of Nicoline, Merric of Hollyrose, Owen of Jesslaw, Prince Roald, Seaver of Tasride, and…Kel--Keladry of Mindelan."

"You know Lady Knight Keladry?" I've heard of this knight—the first known girl to become a knight in centuries! All us girls talk constantly about it, especially since she reached her shield not too long ago. A lot of girls think she is silly and stupid, while some think she is brilliantly brave. Annelien's friend Uline of Hannalof had talked to her and liked her. However, most opinions are that the girl thought she had no chance of a husband and is trying to find one as a knight. Secretly, I think it thrilling and wish I had thought of the idea—though I would never have been able to succeed. "What's she like?"

He winces. "She's alright. Good at mathematics."

_Good at mathematics?_ What is _that_ supposed to mean?

"Well, is she tall? Or short like the Lioness? Is she pretty? Is she better than most at the sword? Does she really have an army of sparrows? Does she really—"

"She's tall." His voice is strained and he won't look at me. What have I done? I thought I was doing well by guiding us towards something we could talk about. I am genuinely interested in learning of the lady knight, but he apparently doesn't want to speak of her.

"Oh."

We are back to the silence. If I weren't duty-bound to remain in this room with Cleon of Kennan, I think I would run screaming from the room, yelling at the top of my lungs, 'Damn duty.'

But, then again, I probably won't.

* * *

Well, what do you think? Shall I continue? Please read & review!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Tamora Pierce owns Tortall and all its inhabitants. I am not Tamora Pierce. Therefore I did not own Tortall. Damnit.

**Author's Note:** The quotes in italics are from _Protector of the Small: Lady Knight. _I have no claim to them.

**

* * *

CHAPTER 2**

_"I've just one way to get coin for grain and the livestock we lost, Kel. The moneylenders only give Mother polite regrets. I have to marry Ermelian of Aminar or my people will starve this winter."_

Telling Kel good-bye had been horrible. Now I stand in the home of Aminar's lord and lady, waiting for their daughter. My betrothed.

_"I'm so sorry. I'd thought, if we had time…"_

_"We knew our chances weren't good. We did talk about it."_

_"I know. Even knowing I couldn't break the betrothal honorably, I went ahead and dreamed. That's the problem with being able to think. It means you wish for things you can't have."_

Kel hadn't been surprised. I wasn't either. Except Kel had not been there when I had begged on my knees for a chance with her. She hadn't dreamed of a wedding and children. She hadn't felt those dreams been washed away along with grain stores by the damned Lictas River. She must have been smarter than I was. She is smarter than I am. She had lived in the moment and enjoyed our time while we had it.

_"Cleon—"_

Her voice is an echo in my head that I can't get out.

"Cleon!" my mother hisses. I must return to reality and my duty. I look at my mother, who nods at the top of the grand staircase. There are two women at the top. I recognize the one wearing red, Lady Annelien. She came out for her court season two years ago and is now married to Lionel of Aminar. I remember her being one of Uline of Hannalof's friends—mostly because of Neal's obsessions with Lady Uline. The girl in blue next to her is Ermelian.

_"You said you liked her, when we were on progress. You said she's nice. It could be much worse. People do find happiness, when they're married to someone good." _

Ermelian comes down the stairs and I watch her. She is very pretty with her bright blue eyes and brown hair. But she is everything Kel is not.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, where Lady Annelien leaves to stand by Lionel. I watch as Lionel laces his fingers through his wife's and they smile at each other. I am jealous. They chose each other. I do not get to choose.

Ermelian smiles and walks toward the group of us. Her smile is pretty. Beautiful, even. She curtseys to my mother first. Mother smiles at her—she likes Ermelian. Mother and Lady Leona have been best friends since convent school. Mother is thrilled that I am to marry her best friend's daughter. Even more elated because Ermelian happens to be an heiress. Ermelian turns to me and curtseys, though she does not meet my eyes. I am glad. I can't look into the eyes of my wife-to-be while I hear the voice of the girl I love in my head.

"May I present my daughter, Lady Ermelian of Aminar. Ermelian, this is Sir Cleon of Kennan."

She curtseys again and I bow. Only after I straighten do I realize how short she is. Her head doesn't reach my shoulder. She is a dwarf, compared to Kel. One of the things I love about Kel is how she could look me straight in the eye and I'd never have to bend to kiss her.

Ermelian giggles just as I think of how ridiculous it would be for me to kiss her. I look at her, but she ducks her head and stares at the floor. Kel hardly ever giggles.

_"We'll do our duty, like we're supposed to. And we can be friends, surely. Nothing changes that." _

Friends. Yes, friends. While I long for Kel, married to her polar opposite. Mithros, help me!

Mother is speaking to me. "—you and Ermelian should go and get reacquainted."

_"That's you, Kel, making the best of it. You're right. I saw her awhile we were on progress. It was right after you left to help that village after the earthquake. She is nice. She's also pretty and kind. Some of our friends can't say as much about the wives arranged for them. She just isn't you. She isn't my friend, or my comrade." _

"Yes, Mother."

Mother links arms with Lady Leona as they, along with Lord Asvin and the magistrate, go off to draw up the official marriage contract. Lionel nods at me before he and his wife depart from the room, rather sneakily. Ermelian sees them and I see a frown in her brow. She looks at me and smiles shyly.

"Hello." Her voice is musical, light. Thank the Goddess she doesn't sound nasal. I can't stand women with high, loud, annoying voices.

"Hello."

"How are you?"

How am I? I suppose a 'Well, I'd be fine if it weren't that I am in love with another girl who is not at all like the girl I must marry, her complete opposite in fact. Oh by the way, that's you. Please don't take it personally' would not be an acceptable answer.

"Fine, thank you. How are you?" I'm keeping the conversation going, aware of how uninterested I sound.

She mutters something under her breath.

"What?" I ask. She blushes delicately. It's surprising how pretty it looks on her. Kel never blushed; her Yamani calm was never broken.

Do not think of Kel. Do not think of Kel.

"I'm dong wonderful."

I open my mouth to say something, but I have nothing to say to this. Honestly, I don't know what we're talking about. All I can think of is Kel and how I can't be with her. I nod my head. She doesn't say anything. We stare off in silence. My thoughts wander back to Kel.

In my mind, _I jump on my horse and ride to Corus, where Kel is about to be killed in a duel by Joren of Stone Mountain. I leap in and disarm Joren. He falls back and I knock him across the back of the head, knocking him out. Kel runs to me and I wrap her in my arms. I lean down, only a hair because she is tall, and kiss her as…_

"Goddess!" I jerk to look at the girl who is not Kel. She blushes again. She was the one who yelled?

"I apologize, s-s-sir. I did not mean to startle you."

I give her a small smile before I turn back to staring at the wall. It is an interesting wall, gray with cracks where the stones are fitted together. Just like most other walls.

"Look," she speaks again. "I know we don't know each other well—at all. But I think we should get to know each other. I mean, we are to be married after all."

I am startled by the words coming from this little snip of a girl. She may not be a wilting wallflower, I realize. I feel my eyebrows go up and my eyes widen as I look at this girl, who looks a little more than shocked, perhaps at herself. For the first time, I think only of her—no Kel filters in through my Kel-obsessed brain.

Ermelian is pretty and sweet and kind, from all accounts. She is someone I could have fallen in love with. We could be happy. Her jaw drops, I am not sure why.

I look away. "You're right," I say, as I realize what a goon I am.

She did not make the decisions of our betrothal. She too may have been in love with someone else. She is beautiful and gentle and she doesn't deserve a schmuck like me, someone whose heart isn't willing to like her. Mithros' shield, I can do better than this. I must do the honorable thing. I must marry her, to save my people. By doing the honorable thing, I must be a good husband.

"I am?"

"We _should_ get to know each other. We _are_ going to be married soon. I have a duty to my people."

She is quiet for a moment, before asking me to tell her about myself. I suppose I should have seen that coming, but I look at her oddly.

"What do you want to know?"

"What are your friends like? What is it like to be a knight? I don't really know—but I think it's your turn to talk."

My turn to talk. Why do I have to talk? Couldn't she just ramble on as girls—not Kel—do about clothes and I-don't-know-what-else?

"Err…umm…my friends are mostly other knights. As a page and squire, we had a study group. We have book-learning as well as training as pages." I better reassure her I'm not stupid. "And we had a group where we, uh, got together to study. Mostly it was of…uh…" I can see everyone's faces in Neal's room as I list them off. "Neal of Queenscove, Prosper of Tameran, Faleron of King's Reach, uhhhh…" Uh oh. Kel. Should I just not mention her? I scramble for other boys' names. "Esmond of Nicoline, Merric of Hollyrose, Owen of Jesslaw, Prince Roald, Seaver of Tasride, and…" I feel the words being squeezed out of me. "…Kel—Keladry of Mindelan."

I feel exposed. Her name is out in the open.

"You know Lady Knight Keladry? What's she like?"

Goddess, could it be worse? Can I describe Kel without acting as if she were the love of my life?

"She's alright. Good at mathematics." That's enough about her.

"Well, is she tall? Or short like the Lioness? Is she pretty? Is she better than most at the sword? Does she really have an army of sparrows? Does she really—?

I cut her off. I can't speak about Kel anymore.

"She's tall." _You're short._

"Oh," is her soft reply.

I know it is horrible. I am defying everything I have been taught—rejecting the Code of Chivalry. I am rude. And I cannot make myself apologize. I want to blame her for everything, but I can't. It makes me angry at her. I am unreasonable and angry at myself for being unreasonable.

We don't speak again, not even as Mother and I leave.

"Well?" Mother demands as soon as we are in her carriage.

"Well," I say.

She looks at me and rolls her eyes. "Cleon, my boy, I know you don't love Ermelian. But you must marry her. We have no other way to support Kennan."

"Mother, I know."

She gazes at me for a moment, understanding I don't want her to have in her eyes.

"Cleon, I know this is hard for you. I know that you are the most honorable son a mother could have. You are doing the right thing—and I know it hurts. _Love_ hurts. But Cleon, you must give Ermelian a chance. She's done nothing wrong. Try to find a place in your heart for her."

"Mother, I'll do my duty."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighs and looks out the window. I watch her, the lines on her face more apparent than they used to be, her red hair less...red. She's been stressed, I know. Another reason to do my duty. I owe my mother.

_"We'll do our duty, like we're supposed to…Nothing changes that."_

_"No. Nothing will ever change that." _

Damn duty.

* * *

**I write much faster when I get lots of reviews :) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hi...*sheepish expression* I am sooooo sorry that I have take this long to update. It's just taken me forever to get this right--and college sucks. I mean, don't professors understand that their papers interfere with all the fanfictioning? I am very, very, very sorry. But here is Chapter 3. And I have made it my New Year's Resolution that I will finish this fic (the WHOLE thing) during Christmas break.

**I own nothing, it all belongs to Tammy. **

**CHAPTER 3**

I am staring at the girl in a mirror again. She is dressed impeccably, in a gorgeous peach-colored dress, a few shades darker than her skin. Her wavy hair twists into long curls down her back, set with tiny seed pearls. Her drop-pearl earrings, an engagement gift from her grandmother, dangle delicately from her ears. Her face is made-up beautifully, her blue eyes especially bright with the touch of color behind them. I think she has never looked more radiant.

Or more nervous.

There are other girls in the gilt-covered glass. These girls are fluttering and fidgeting, trying to adjust their bangles and hair and gowns. These faces are smiling and beautiful, bright. But every now and again, I catch their eyes and I can see they are just as nervous as I. And, like me, they have learned not to show it.

I back away from the mirror, for if I look at myself any more, I know that I will find something wrong, and pick and pull and worry at it. Turning away from the chatter of convincing Melanie of Danshame that her fiancé will indeed show up, I catch Allegra of Linshart's eye. She smiles and beckons me over.

Allegra is Annelien's closest friend from childhood, and they were in the same year in convent school. My first year in the City of Gods, I tagged along behind Annelien like a lost puppy. Allegra never seemed to mind that I was there, and often was very kind to me. However, she and I were never close friends, more like good acquaintances. She probably would have had no qualms about befriending me, but to me, she was just so high up on a pedestal, my tongue was tied when I was near her. I have always admired her. She is beautiful, with snapping brown eyes, long flowing blonde hair, tall and slim in proportions. Her beauty can be misleading. She is headstrong and opinionated, something many of our instructors had problems handling. How often do you think they expect young noble ladies to ask of their etiquette mistress if she thinks that etiquette was just a means for men to keep women inferior to them? Personally, I feel that life as a wife of a nobleman isn't the life for her. She's more of the type to follow in the Lioness's footsteps. But, here she is, with other girls waiting behind the curtain, to ascend the Grand Staircase, to walk across the Hall, to stand before the king and ask for royal blessing on her impending marriage to a nobleman that her parents chose for her.

"Are you ready for this?" she asks.

I've rehearsed and used my line over and over again, a diplomatic and cute response, typical of a young girl getting ready for marriage. Looking into Allegra's determined face, something makes me answer her honestly.

"No. Not at all."

She smiles shakily at me, and I can see for a moment through her façade. She's as nervous as I am.

"Neither am I," she sighs. She lowers herself into a chair, her pastel-pink skirt puffing slightly. She leans back against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, her long blonde hair flowing down the back of the chair.

"Alaric of Mandash," she says suddenly. "Allegra…of Mandash. Alaric and Allegra…Allegra and Alaric? Alaric and Allegra of Mandash. Lady Allegra of Mandash."

Sheepishly, she looks at me.

I smile because I know what she's doing. She's trying to make it sound right in her head. I've done it myself.

_Cleon of Kennan. Ermelian of Kennan. Cleon and Ermelian. Ermelian and Cleon. Cleon and Ermelian of Kennan. Lady Ermelian of Kennan. _

"I've met him three times. _Three_ times," she tells me. "Two of those times were after our betrothal contract was signed. He's dashing and handsome and ever so kind. And we get on so splendidly, talking of riding and horses and archery, everything I love. I swear to the Goddess, the moment he asked me to dance, my mother and his agreed we would wed."

I am jealous. She, at least, can talk to her husband.

"That sounds _wonderful_," I tell her.

"It did," she sighs, as she twirls her golden hair around her finger. "Until I found out that he is violently opposed to the Queen's Ladies, something I've wanted since I heard of them. My parents would have never let me become a knight or a Rider, so I dreamed of being a Queen's Lady. I'd get to do my piece, with the horses and learn how to defend myself and others. And I'd be part of the Queen's inner circle, wearing dresses and still seen as lady-like. But Alaric will never let me become one."

Her face drops and I can see her hurt.

"Did you ask him?"

"No," she sighs. "I couldn't."

To see bold Allegra so…docile made me tremble. She never backed down from a challenge. For her to be so resigned makes me wonder what fate awaits me after marriage. Cleon doesn't have any objections to things I like, that I know of.

But I know so little of him.

I have not seen him since the day our betrothal was signed.

"Tell me of your husband-to-be," Allegra says.

My gaze drops to my hands, my fingers twisting into knots.

"Honestly, I know nothing of him. He doesn't speak to me, no matter how hard I try," I blurt out.

Allegra's eyes are sad as our gaze meets.

"It seems a waste, doesn't it? Our whole lives, we are taught to be true and virtuous and docile. Men must protect us. Our lives should be free of worry. Our little female heads must only contain thoughts of babies and embroidery. Our fathers, our brothers, our husbands make the sacrifices, they say. We must do our best to be grateful to them by creating a loving household and by being obedient. And here we are, you, Ermelian, and I, on the verge of achieving the pinnacle of a noble woman's calling--to marry well. We are wedding our knight in armor, just as we are told to do. Look at us, choosing to do as we are told. Who is protecting us? _No one._"

Allegra's eyes flash ferociously.

"_We _are protecting them, all of them," she waves her arm, gesturing towards the people beyond the curtain. "We are sacrificing our hearts and our happiness and our dreams, for reasons that are _not_ noble. For bloodlines, for wealth, for heirs!"

I find myself turning defensive.

"Cleon's marrying me to save his people from starving."

"That's_ noble_ of him," she spits. "Marrying the pretty little rich girl so that the people he has responsibility for can eat."

The bitter, sarcastic tone in her voice startles me. It's not like he's committing a crime--it's his duty to marry. Sacrificing his happiness for others. Though, I admit, I do not like thinking that someone is sacrificing themselves to marry me. I do not like being settled for.

Allegra smiles softly. "I am harsh, Ermelian. And I apologize. Your Cleon does have a noble cause. As lord, he must take care for his people. Marrying you is the solution he has found. But I cannot dismiss it so easily. Forgive me, but do you like the thought that it is a sacrifice he is making to be with you?"

It's like she can read my thoughts.

"You are the means to an end. A noble end, to be sure. Any man would be lucky to have you for himself, to earn your love. And here you are. Marrying a man who does not try to speak to you. Does not try to know the woman he has decided to spend the rest of his life with. Who is he protecting? _You _are protecting _him--_and his people. You are marrying the dolt, so that these people are fed. You are making a terrific sacrifice--your potential happiness. And I dare say, you haven't told anyone your uneasiness? You are protecting your parents from the truth, the truth that your marriage may not be as wonderful as they are picturing. And all the while, who is protecting you? Who is keeping you from harm and hurt and the troubles of the world? No one. We women are the ones who keep this whole conspiracy alive--we protect the world by hiding our hurts and putting on a beautiful face to show the world, while opening our hearts up to be stabbed by swords."

I stare at Allegra in awe. I could never have put into words what she just has. Levelly, she locks her gaze on my face, almost daring me to look away. What she has spoken is true, and I cannot find a place in my heart to deny it.

I forfeit the contest of wills as I look away. I look across the room and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. For the first time, I look afraid. Quickly, I smooth my features into a calm expression. I do not want to believe her.

What has happened to Allegra that has turned her so jaded to this world? I wonder. Will I become like that? I cannot say my dreams have been crushed, as she believes hers to have been.

"Allegra…" I say, turning back to her, desperately thinking of something to assuage her. But I know that none of the pretty little lines about her beautiful wedding, her beautiful children with Alaric, her happily-ever-after will be enough. She would only laugh in my face.

But before I can think of something to say, the herald is here, fluttering and gesturing wildly.

"We begin now, doves!" he cries. "Quiet, lovely girls. When your names are called, step through the curtain. Just like we practiced, dears. Now, smile! It's your big day!"

Then he skips out through the curtain, to the platform where he stands to read our names.

"Lady Melanie of Danshame," we hear.

Shaking, Melanie pats down her dress, grips a few hands, and disappears past the curtain.

"One of our number is gone," whispers Allegra. I think I am the only one that hears her. The chatter swells up, thinking of Melanie descending the stair, walking through the hall, joining hands with her intended, and facing the king. It should take her about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to seal the deal of a lifetime.

"Two," she says, in a dismal voice as Blanche of Fanwood is called.

I do not want to hear her morbid counting. I consider putting my fingers in my ears, but resist. We fidget, waiting.

"Lady Ermelian of Aminar."

I glance at Allegra, who squeezes my hand gently. I square my shoulders and face the curtain, separating me from eternity.

It only takes a moment and a step.

It seems much brighter in the Great Hall. I pause at the top of the staircase. Looking straight ahead, I see King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, expecting me. There is a sea of people on either side. Slowly, I take halting steps down the stairs.

Then I spot him. Cleon.

He is standing at the bottom of the stair, where he is to take my arm, as we walk to the throne.

I glance at him, then glance away, Allegra's words echoing in my mind.

Halfway down, I look again at him.

I almost trip down the rest of the stairs. The pit of my belly flip-flops, not entirely unpleasantly.

He is staring at me.

* * *

**Again, please forgive me my slowness in updating. I promise to do my best to finish this soon. I've got the route mapped out in my head (but am open to any ideas). REVIEW :D **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I'm working! I'm working! I promise! Who'd have thought Christmas break would get busy? Who'd have thought that second semester would be so tough? Who'd have thought my ideas would fly straight out of my head? This time, Cleon was much harder to write, that bastard. Kidding, kidding. Sorta. I mostly blame the lack of usage of the 'm' button on my laptop. Stupid technology. Here's Chapter 4.

**It's all Tamora's, who at least lets me play in the world and mind and hearts of Tortall. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

She is beautiful.

It was my turn to stand at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Ermelian. Honestly, I was miserable. I had hoped and prayed that somehow, someway, the gods would prevent this day from ever occuring. The day where all hope for happiness would be destroyed, the day my betrothal to Ermelian was final. And once a betrothal was official, practically the only way to break it is death. But I cannot die. That would running away. I must do my duty.

As her name was called, I moved into position, barely aware of what I was doing. I was numb. I could think of nothing but what I couldn't have. And then I looked up. And now I stand, speechless, as I watch her carefully descend the staircase towards me.

She looks at me and her expression is shocked. I look down at myself. Did I spill something? Are my clothes on backwards? No, no, they look right to me. I look back at her and her pretty face is tinged red. She steps off the last step and curtseys to me as custom dictates. I bow to her, as I must. But, without thinking, I take her slim hand and kiss it. Her face turns even more red, and I smile at her. Her blue eyes widen for a moment, and she stares at me for a moment. Why does she look at me this way? I wonder. Have I done something to offend her? I give her a puzzled look, and her eyes blink twice. Then her face slides back into a mask of serenity. I tuck her arm through mine and guide her towards the king and queen.

The walk no longer seems to me like that of a march to Traitor's Hill. Instead, it is much like a stroll in the palace gardens, with the prettiest girl on my arm. We reach the throne and Their Majesties. The steps I had thought I would count with dread have disappeared and register nothing in my memory. Their Majesties smile at us and incline their heads. Ermelian removes her hand from my elbow as we show our respect, and I feel cold without her touch.

"Baron Sir Cleon of Kennan, it has been made known to us, that you wish to take the lady Ermelian of Aminar as your wife," Jonathan begins. "Are these intentions true?"

"Yes, my liege," I answer, according to form.

"Lady Ermelian of Aminar, has your family have any disagreements or objections to the union between yourself and Sir Cleon?"

"I am unaware of any such objections." Her voice is quiet but clear. I catch myself trying to look at her, and have to settle with peeking at her with my peripheral vision.

"And you, Lady Ermelian. Have you yourself any disagreements or objections to the union between yourself and Sir Cleon?"

She pauses. My heart stops for a moment. What is she backs out? What if...

"No, my liege, I have none."

I feel a smile grow on my face and find it unnerving. I have not felt the need to grin this way in much time. What has changed?

King Jonathan continues to speak. "This betrothal is as binding as the marriage ceremony itself. When you take the vows of matrimony, you are giving consent forever to your spouse. Fidelty in a marriage is like fealty to your king. Sir Cleon, as a knight of Tortall, you understand this such, as you have sworn yourself to protect and obey the Crown. In matrimony, you are swearing the same to your intended. The law dictates that a husband must be faithful and considerate of a wife, and a wife must be faithful and obedient to a husband. A marriage between nobles should constitute mutual respect. Do you both so swear to honor each other?"

I nod, then remember my answer must be given aloud. I chime in, right behind Ermelian. "I do so swear, my liege."

The king smiles on us. "Then, with your spoken word of agreement, I, on behalf of the crown of Tortall, grant you, Sir Cleon and Lady Ermelian, my permission to be wed and I give you my blessing. May Mithros and the Goddess and all the gods smile on you both."

"So mote it be."

My betrothed and I genuflect in reverence to both our gods and our monarchs. We then turn to each other. She watches me closely, as I bend on one knee. Jonathan hands me a small wooden box, beautifully carved with flowers. I open the box and present Ermelian with the ring of engagement that my mother had ordered after the marriage contract was signed. Ermelian gasps. I look down at the ring, hoping that it isn't broken or ruined in some way. It looks alright to me. I gently remove it from the box, and slide it onto her finger. Her hand is trembling, and I am suprised to note, that so is mine. I smile up at her, hoping to reassure both her and myself. The corner of her mouth turns up, and I take that as a good sign. I kiss her hand and rise from my knee.

"The future Baron Sir Cleon and Baroness Ermelian of Kennan," the herald proclaims as we walk away from the king. There is polite clapping, as there was with the previous betrothal couples. I swell a little in pride as I see some familiar faces. Neal raises one eyebrow and nods his head in approval, his infamous smirk written all across his face. Merric is next to him, and winks at me. I grin a little at them and shake my head. My friends are fools, but it is nice that they are here, supporting me.

My attention is turned back to the girl at my side, who stumbles slightly and tightens her grip on my arm to prevent falling. I check her face concernedly, worried she is hurt. She shakes it off and we continue walking, until we reach the door of the room. THere we are greeted by our families. Mother and my sister are there, smiling happily. My mother's smile is brilliant in a way that it has not been for a long time. I suspect that though she is happy to see me betrothed at last, a great burden is being lifted from her shoulders. Lady Leona hugs her daughter warmly, and Lord Asvin claps me on the back.

"Congratulations, the both of you! And...welcome to the family, brother," Ermelian's brother says, opening his arms as if to hug me.

I hesitate for a moment, not sure if he is joking.

"Come now, Cleon. We're family now. No need to be shy."

I look about me. My sister looks confused as I, but Mother looks like she is trying not to laugh, and Ermelian's parents and Lionel's wife are desperately trying to hide their giggles behind their hands. I look at Ermelian, who too is fitting back laughter. Her eyes twinkle merrily as she watches her brother forcefully hug me.

"I've got my eye on you. I know. Everything. If you hurt my sister in any way, Kennan, I'll kill you," he whispers in my ear.

I stagger back from him, my mouth gaping. I feel my heart race. He knows?

But Lionel is all smiles and jest. "Come now, Kennan. That wasn't so bad!"

I give my best attempt at laughing. There is a look in Ermelian's brother's eye that tells me not the broach the subject now. "I suppose so."

I look at Ermelian, who is watching her brother and I suspiciously.

"Lionel..." she begins warningly, as our parents drift away together, discussing details of the ceremony and plannings for the upcoming wedding.

"Don't worry your little silly head about it, Melon. It's a boy's thing."

"Melon?" I ask, looking to Ermelian.

A red rises on her cheeks. Her eyes snap dangerously. Her fists clench. She is beautiful when she's angry, I think to myself.

Lady Annalien steps in between the two. "Meli," she warns as she places her hand on Ermelian's shoulder. "Calm."

She turns to her husband. "Lionel, that was _mean_," she chides. "Meli asked you to not call her 'Melon' in front of people. Granted, she is marrying Cleon, but she'd rather tell him on her own terms. And second," the lady's voice lowered dramatically, "'boy's things', as much as you hold them dear, are generally small and petty and of none importance. Much like another _little _thing that boys hold dear."

Ouch. Lady Annalien's got a bite to her. Both I and Lionel wince, with Annalien and Ermelian smile.

"Thank you, Anne," Ermelian says to her sister-in-law.

"Not at all, Meli. Now, boys, go settle whatever 'boy thing' you need to do, while us girls shall go swoon over all the gorgeous men-folk about."

Lumped together, Lionel and I have no choice but to act as a group. We both protest weakly of the women leaving us, but for naught. The girls, arm-in-arm, swished away, and leave the two men with wounded-pride behind. Lionel, however, is chuckling gently to himself.

"Something funny, Aminar?" I ask grumpily.

"My wife. It never ceases to amaze me. She looks like a little docile creature, but when she's irritated or feeling protective, she's worse than a mother lion. Gods, I love her."

I raise an eyebrow. Men generally don't love their wives for their sharp, clever tongues. But if that's what Lionel loves, more power to him for finding someone he wants.

"Now then, Kennan. What I said, I meant. You beat or lash out or abuse or hurt my sister in any way, I swear before Mithros, I'll not have a moment's rest until I take it out on your sorry hide. You break her heart and I will break _you_."

"I wouldn't dream of hurting her. I swear before Mithros." I am shocked that he would think that of me.

"I know. You don't seem the type to beat women," Lionel says, putting a friendly hand on my shoulder. "You seem the type to take chivalry seriously. And that's good. You seem the type that would do his duty no matter what the cost. And that's good. As long as you do your duty to my sister and treat her well. That said, let's go chase our girls."

"But--what...what did you mean...you 'know'? What do you know?" I ask. What have I done that is worth hiding? What have I done that my brother-in-law-to-be is threatening me with?

Lionel grins wickedly. "Now, that'd be telling."

A cold fear is settling in my stomach. "That—that's black-mail, Aminar."

"I wouldn't say that. Just think of it as a friendly secret between brothers. Tell you what, I'll tell you what I know after your wedding reception. Before you rush off to the marriage bed with my sister."

I look down at the smaller man, whose eyes are glinting at me. It is not a evil glint, but there is a threat there.

"C'mon, Kennan. Let's go find our ladies."

I follow along behind my brother-in-law. I do not like being intimidated and it is not often that this happens. It's helpful when you are taller than most of your year-mates. But Lionel of Aminar has been a knight for five years. I have only been a knight one year plus some months. Yet, I know that I am strong enough to best him. Why am I so afraid of him? What do I have to worry about that he could use to hurt me?

"Hello, Kennan." I jump a bit, but am relieved to see Neal and Merric and Faleron at my elbow.

"How's it feel to be an engaged man?" asks Merric, winking at me. "You've got quite a missus there."

I grin at my friends. _They _do not intimate me, nor do they try. I laugh and joke with my friends, forgetting about Lionel's warning. Merric talks of his fears that his mother is arranging a match with an Eldorne, though the oldest daughter is only twelve. He has his eye on a certain girl, though whom he will not tell us. Neal smiles happily; he and Lady Yukimi are expecting their first child. Faleron hasn't even thought of a wife yet, as he has been at the northern border fighting the Scanrans. None of us notice her approach, until Neal gives a great shout.

"Cleon, be a good man, and introduce your wife to your friends."

I turn and find Ermelian at my elbow. She blushes at Neal's words and bobs a curtsey to my friends. "I am very sorry to interrupt, but I was going to ask Sir Cleon if—"

"_Sir _Cleon?" sniggers Merric.

"My dear lady," chides Neal, "you're going to have to learn to take care of this buffoon when you are married."

Ermelian's eyes are wide as she looks at Queenscove. "Pardon?"

Neal smiles. "You'll have to remind him to put his feet on the floor first when he gets up in the morning—"

"Make sure he puts one leg at a time into his breeches—" cuts Merric.

"Remind him that chamber pots do not make good hats—" adds Faleron.

Ermelian catches on that they are joking and laughs merrily. I give her a small smile, feeling awkward as my friends abuse me in front of my betrothed.

"Make sure he does not catch his head on fire—you can see what happened last time—"

"Be sure he cinches the saddle on his horse—"

"Lay out his clothes for him—he has a dismal sense of fashion—"

"And make sure he eats his vegetables."

This voice is new. I freeze, knowing that voice better than my own. The breath leaves my lungs and I feel as if someone viciously ripped my internal organs out. But then, if they had done that, my heart wouldn't hurt as much as it does right now.

The rest of the group laughs as I turn and face the newcomer. She smiles at me, and I nod in response. I cannot smile at her as much as I want to. My whole self feels numb. Everything that I had been feeling before Ermelian stepped down towards me has returned. I want to howl my misery. And on top of my depression, there is a feeling of puzzlement. Why have I been cheerful this entire time, with a girl at my side that I do not love? Why does the world, only now, seem so bleak without the girl I love? Why was I able to forget?

"Well, Cleon," demands Neal, "aren't you going to introuce your wife-to-be to her new best friends?"

"Oh, right."

I look down at Ermelian, who is red from laughing at my friends' antics. She looks up at me expectantly as I stare dully at her. Something crosses her face and her brow wrinkles. She looks...concerned? For me?

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of misery the newcomer has brought back to my brain.

"Err, Ermelian. These are my friends, uhm..."

"You are dismal at this, Kennan. Allow me. My dear lady, may I humbly introduce myself. I am Sir Nealan of Queenscove." Neal bows elaborately and kisses Ermelian's hand enthusiastically. She giggles at his flirtations. I feel a small twinge, that maybe I should like to hit Neal for touching her that way.

"Neal, get off her," I mutter.

Neal's eyes twinkle at me. "Ah, now, Cleon. No harm done. I apologize if I seem a bit forward, my dear."

"Not at all, Sir Nealan," Ermelian smiles. "I enjoy being around people that make me laugh."

"Well, then, those words alone shall goad me on."

"Alright, stop flirting with the lady. Just because Yuki's round as a barrel doesn't mean you should dally with other men's wives," Merric snorts.

"And this, my dear Ermelian of Aminar, is the charming prat, Sir Merric of Hollyrose."

Merric bows simply and straightens up. "Pleasure to meet you. Please forgive if I don't kiss over your hand. I think there's enough slobber on it already and I'd rather not swap spit with Sir Flirt."

Laughing merrily, Ermelian curtseys to Merric. "I understand."

Neal scowls at Merric. "And the unfortunate cousin of the buffoon is Sir Faleron of King's Reach."

Faleron smiles easily. "I'm not nearly as sharp as Merric nor as clever-tongued as Neal, so I will simply say it is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ermelian."

"I can understand it, Sir Faleron. I can barely keep up with them," Ermelain allows. I notice dimly that she seems to be enjoying herself.

"Trust me, you'll be dizzy if you try. Just nod and smile and get away as soon as possible. That's the only way my brains aren't mixed in my head."

"Your brain is just as mixed as the rest of us. Months of jousting Lord Raoul just makes your type of mixed brains a different sort," quips Neal.

"And Lady Alanna must have used your tongue to sharpen her sword."

Neal turns to Ermelian. "This--"

"Let me introduce myself, Neal. You'll just damage whatever the bad image the poor girl already has of me." She turns to Ermelian and extends her hand. "Lady Keladry of Mindelan. It is a pleasure to meet you." She glances at me. "I have heard much about you."

Ermelian's eyes are wide. "You're--you're Lady Knight Keladry?"

"I am. But please, call me Kel. I'd like to be friends."

My heart stops. No, no, no! It's bad enough that I am standing here between the two of them. It's bad enough that they are talking to each other. It's bad enough that I must have one and not the other. But it will be far worse if the girl I love and the girl I marry are friends. I cannot reconcile the two of them in my head. I will go mad.

* * *

**So, I've published Chapter 4. Don't kill me because of how sporadic I am with writing. I promise to finish this fic and as soon as possible. I am very picky about what I publish and I want to make sure the story is good enough before I publish. Please review. Reviews motivate me. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Back! Finally, I've updated. It's not exactly the way I had before (prior to the snapping of my faithful USB), but things do change. Thank you, everyone, for your understanding about my broken USB, both here and on _The Other Weasley_. I would really like to thank **BlackMaru**, **Hunchbook_,_ **and **GiantKilleress**, especially, for your encouraging words. They are a huge factor in the re-writing of this chapter.

**Tortall is all Tammy's.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

It's raining. Of course, it's raining _today_. It could be worse, I suppose. It could be raining in exactly one month from now. Then, all Mother and Lady Gaia's plans for an outdoor wedding will be in shambles. Maybe then, since they can't do it outside, they'll just give up and I shall give Cleon back his beautiful blue and purple and silver ring (I shall hurl it at him maybe)...

I shake my head. I am a fool with foolish thoughts. And my foolish thoughts have not left me alone since the betrothal ceremony.

A maid comes in with a large white sheet, and motions for me to step out of the bath, so she can begin to drain it. At the prospect of her seeing me without clothes, I blush, heat filling up my cheeks as it always does, and quickly dart out of the water and into the awaiting linen. The maid grabs another sheet and begins to rub it all over my hair. After she's done that, she tries to brush my hair, but I wave her away. I _can_ comb my own hair.

She shrugs, and grabs the copper bath tub with a strength that surprises me. Humming off-key a tune I think I recognize, she opens one of the windows in my room and pours out all my dirty water. I love the sound of the great splash it makes when it hits the ground. The effect today sounds squelchy because the ground is already soaked through from the steady downpour of rain. While she dries the tub, I jump onto the bed and pull the all the bed-curtains shut. I hear a chuckle from outside my cloth walls, but decide to ignore it. Safe from any prying eyes, I can pull on my undergarments and tuck my robe about myself. It would be easier if I were at home, and could use my carved screen, but here, the bed will make do.

I emerge, to find that the maid is gone but her song hasn't left. Quietly, as I sit in front of my mirror and begin to pull the snarls out of my hair, I begin to sing.

_"Once a lass met a lad.  
'You're a gentle one' said she,  
In my heart, I'd be glad  
If you loved me for me._

_You say your love is true  
And I hope that it will be.  
I'd be sure, if I knew  
That you loved me for me._

_Could I be the one you're seeking?  
Will I be the one you choose?  
Can you tell my heart is speaking?  
My eyes will give you clues._

_What you see may be deceiving.  
Truth lies underneath the skin.  
Hope will blossom by believing  
The heart that lies within._

_I'll be yours!  
Together, we shall always be as one.  
If you love me for me." _

Right at the part, where traditionally the song splits into a duet, another voice joins mine. I look up, startled, to see Annelien in the doorway. She winks and motions for me to continue.

I sing:

_Who can say where we'll go?  
Who can promise what will be?  
But I'll stay by your side._

She sings under me:

_I'll be yours.  
Together we shall always be as one_

Together, in harmony:

_If you love me for me.  
If you love me for me."_

As the last note fades, she sighs. "I do love your voice, Meli."

I shrug. I like singing, and everyone tells me I have a nice voice. I think I have an okay voice, but it is nothing spectacular.

"Any reason why you were singing that particular song?" she asks, when I don't respond. She takes the comb from my hand and begins to tug it through my sopping hair.

"No, of course not," I say quickly. "The maid was humming it, and it got caught in my head."

"And it has nothing to do with you?" she asks pointedly.

"Why would it?" I snap back.

"Because you're about to get married." She tugs a little harder than necessary on a knot.

"To someone who doesn't want to marry me."

"You can't know that, Meli."

I sigh. She's right. "But I wish I knew."

"Tell me." Her eyes are kind and patient.

"He was so…_unmoving _that first time, and then he wasn't. After the ceremony, he would actually look at me and it seemed like he did want to marry me. But then, it was like someone blew out a candle and he just stood there like a lump of wax! I just don't know what to think!"

The public engagement had made my hopes rise. Cleon did not stare at the wall. He did not sigh. He noticed that I existed, and seemed to take more than just notice. His gaze had made me feel as if I were _worth_ noticing, that I wasn't just the wealthy bride. His friends were so charming and lovely and Sir Nealan made me laugh as I haven't in ages! His and Sir Merric's abuse of poor Cleon, and the way Cleon had good-naturedly shrugged it off! And the lady knight Keladry! Wanting to be _my_ friend, as if I were someone worthy of having the acquaintance of the hero of the Scanran War!

But the moment I, feeling as ridiculous as a Stormwing in a flock of swans, took Keladry of Mindelan's hand, I had looked up at Cleon's face to see if he noticed that I was being accepted by his friends. In his eyes was that same expression I had seen months ago. I blinked, disbelieving. No, he couldn't—look at how it had been just moments ago! But there it was: that wall in Cleon's grey eyes. That same wall that looked just like the pattern of stones in the hall of Aminar. _That_ Cleon was back. I felt almost as if a huge bubble had burst inside of me, and I wanted desperately to cry. I was being silly, but if he's going to change back and forth like this all the time, I _will_ go insane.

In anxiety, I yank my head, receiving a painful tug to the scalp from Annelien.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"About what?"

"If he wants to marry you."

"I can't do that!" I am shocked. How could I walk up to someone and just ask them if they want to marry me?

"Why not?"

"It…it's just not done!"

Annelien raised one blonde eyebrow archly. "Be the first, then."

I turn around to stare at her, face to face, not through the glass of the mirror. "I…I can't!"

"Surely, Meli, you can."

"But I know what his answer is!"

"Do you?"

"He said that he has to marry me to save his people. It's his _duty._" I spat the last word like it was the ugliest curse word I had ever heard.

"That's his reason for marrying you, true. You are, after all, heiress to a large fortune. Not only from your father, but from your mother as well. And his people suffer greatly from the flooding. Marrying you saves his people. That's _why _he's marrying you. But you don't know whether he _wants_ to marry you or not."

"Does it matter?" Annelien's words ring a tad too close to Allegra of Linshart's tirade.

"In the great scheme of your marriage, it does."

"How? The contract's signed. We're betrothed. To break a betrothal is like breaking a blood oath."

"Oh, I don't mean that your marriage won't happen. There's been too much put into this wedding for it to be called off now. You'll be Ermelian of Kennan in a month's time."

"You make no sense, Anne." I fold my arms over my chest, cross because I had thought Annelien would give me some magic way to be free.

"You haven't allowed me to, yet. You can ask Cleon if he wants to marry you, duty aside. If he honestly says yes, you may be very happy. If he says no, at least you will know. If he says that he doesn't know—the most honest answer I think he can give—you can work towards being happy. You might even fall in love."

I scoff at the idea of falling in love with Cleon of Kennan. That oaf wouldn't know what love is if it ran him through.

But my foolish insides flutter with the thought of him loving me. Of him leaning down from his great height and looking at me with those great, big, grey, storm-tossed eyes and kissing me… My insides squirm the way they did back at the palace as his wide, awed gaze took me in from head to toe. My stomach twists—not unpleasantly—the way it did when he smiled and kissed my hand. My lungs expand shallowly the way they did when I caught his gaze sliding towards me as the king blessed us. My heart leaps painfully the way it did when he slid that beautiful ring onto my finger.

It doesn't make _sense._

I shake my head, trying to drive away the foolish thoughts that haunt me. I twist the ring now, around and around my finger. I do not like rings, but this one is _stunning_. It is an aquamarine stone, a clear blue, and the setting is silver and amethyst. Mother told me that Lady Gaia chose it especially for me. That she wanted the blue to match my eyes and the purple to show the combination of the Kennan red and the Aminar dark blue.

If I'm being honest with myself, this is like a thrill, a little bit of a risk and an uncertain ending. This is something that I haven't ever experienced. My life has always been so _predictable_. But there was a sense that...oh, I don't know...I feel so silly thinking these things. These are things that someone like me shouldn't think; they are things that only exist in tales and ballads. But in those stories, you know there's a happy ending. I like the thrill, I'm embarrassed to admit, but I want the happy ending.

Annelien smiles. "It's confusing, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" I say, my tone somewhat short.

"Having to marry someone you don't know."

"You've no idea." I roll my eyes for effect.

"Ah, but I do."

I look sharply at my beloved sister-in-law. She and Lionel are the luckiest pair in all of Tortall—there had never been a moment where I could not doubt that they were deeply in love. It is almost disgusting sometimes. They are just as bad as our king and queen.

Anne's grin is mischievous as she reads my mind. "You think that I wanted to marry that brother of yours? The moment I first set eyes on him I thought Lionel of Aminar obnoxious and rude and stupid."

Squirrels could have hidden twenty years' supply of acorns in my mouth, that's how wide my jaw drops.

She laughs, throwing back her beautiful blonde hair. "We were seated next to each other at Midwinter ball. At first, he was polite and distant, and didn't seem to have much interest. And I had no interest in him because I thought I was madly in love with someone else. But then, Allegra convinced him to ask me to dance after supper, while I was talking with friends. He came up to me, grabbed my elbow, and said 'Allegra of Linshart told me I should ask you to dance.'" Here she blushes. "I told him, rather rudely, 'Do not.' Lionel does not like being told no."

I can't help but giggle. If Lionel is told that he can't have something, he immediately does everything in his power to have it. Usually he can restrain himself when it's important, but growing up—let's just say there are lot of entertaining childhood stories about my brother.

"So, for the next month, every time I entered the palace, he was there: behind me, in front of me. I did not like it one bit. And it wasn't as if he was flirting with me. All he would demand was one dance. 'Just one, Lady Annelien, and I'll leave you alone for good.' For the principle of it all, I refused for quite some time, I'll let you know. But I got so fed up with it, finally one night I agreed. I was sick and tired of being hounded. One dance couldn't hurt me, could it?"

I see where this is going. Lionel had taken Annelien into his arms and she had realized that she loved the persistent, obnoxious knight who'd fought so hard for one dance…

"He was an awful dancer. Still is, in fact," Annelien laughs. "As we danced around the room, with every other couple, we didn't speak at first. It was so awful. Finally, the music stopped and I walked away. He grabbed my arm and said 'Now that was not so bad, was it?' He had stepped on my feet and had almost dropped me. I started laughing in his face. 'I'll never dance again with you,' I told him. I was quite rude and I had every intention of living up to that promise."

"But?" I ask. This is not the romantic story I expected.

"For some reason, he kept pestering me for more dances. I got angry with him at first, because he promised only once and never again. But I got used to his pestering and his prodding, and, under the disguise of hatred, we became friends. He knew how to make me laugh. That's the only positive quality I allowed myself to give him. Then one day, my mother told me I was betrothed. 'To who, Mama?' I asked. 'To Lionel of Aminar,' she said."

"And?" I ask. Surely now, Annelien had known that she was _meant_ for my brother.

"I was furious. Mother didn't understand why I didn't want to marry him. 'You're friends, darling, surely?' she would say over and over. 'No, Mother. We're enemies,' I'd say. One day, finally, and after becoming extremely agitated with my refusal, she snapped. She told me that your father, Lord Asvin, had approached my father and asked for my hand for Lionel—that Lionel had asked his father to arrange the marriage. My fief faced a similar dilemma to Kennan's, because we were haggard from continuous raiding parties from Scanra. We needed money and men to protect our share of the border. As you know, Aminar is very wealthy. A betrothal between Aminar's heir and myself was favorable—like a gift from the gods, my parents thought. That Lionel wanted me made it so perfect."

Annelien really did not want Lionel? I can't believe it.

"I knew what was at stake. Roald couldn't marry me and, anyway he had never given me more interest than a friend—"

"Wait. You were in love with Prince Roald?" I gasp. There's no other Roalds that I know of.

She smiles. "A bit silly, wasn't I?"

I laugh. "Has Roald ever looked at anyone besides Shinko?" The love our crown prince and his Yamani princess share is almost as legendary of that of his parents.

"He was very timid about her, but look where it led." Annelien sighs, and I wonder if she still thinks of Roald. It's so troubling to think of Annelien and someone else, someone not my brother. "But I digress. I imagined myself in love with the crown prince, and found myself engaged to someone I had convinced myself I hated."

"_But_?" I am still sitting here, my hair dripping beads of water onto the floor, desperately wanting to know _why_ she married my brother. In a way, it makes sense. I never understood how someone could take one look at Lionel and fall head over heels for him.

Annelien shakes her head, her golden hair curling around the base of her neck. "But I knew that I had a duty to my people."

I wince at her choice of words. I think she did it on purpose.

"So I finally consented, and we went through the same betrothal process. I refused to dignify his presence beyond what was required of me. I knew that it was immature, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't understand why he would have done this. Was it all just some big stupid game to him? Just to see how far he could get? One dance. Two dances. Three dances. All the dances for the rest of my life. That's how I saw it. I failed to see that he had stopped teasing me as viciously as before—he didn't stop teasing me, but he was gentler about it. But I was too much in a pet to see it. I could only fume at myself that I had given in. I had lost. Finally, one night he drew me outside and asked me what was wrong." Here Annelien snorts, rather unladylike. "I screamed a bit at him and asked him why in Mithro's name he wanted to marry me."

"What did he say?" By now, my vision of Annelien and Lionel's romance is completely gone. I expect to hear something so characteristic of my brother that I am just as shocked by her words as I was to hear that she hadn't always loved him.

"He told me that he loved me."

I gasp and sigh. _That_ is romantic. Maybe if I ask Cleon…would he say that? Is he too shy to admit his feelings for me?

Annelien rolls her eyes, but a blush creeps up her neck. "I couldn't say anything. I mean, what do you say? It threw me off. It was so unlike that demented brother of yours that I wasn't sure I was talking to him. Then he grabbed me and kissed me, and I knew it was truly your brother. Because no one else would have had the audacity."

"Did you love him then?"

"I…I might have started then. But first, I had to reexamine how I viewed him. I had created him into a villain in my mind and I had to look at who he really was. The next few months felt as if we were being re-introduced."

"How did you know you were in love?" I press. There had to be that moment of truth where the clouds would disappear and everything would be clear as glass.

"I didn't know. It came gradually, with the little things that I realized showed he cared. And I realized that I didn't want a tragically romantic husband. One who made me laugh suited me better."

"But you hated him!"

Annelien laughs. "Melon, I've learned that love can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing."

I have a lot to think about.

* * *

**The lyrics are from the song "If You Love Me For Me" from Barbie's _The Princess and the Pauper. _You are not allowed to judge me. **

**That last line of Annelien's is also not mine. It is from the movie _Stardust _(2007)_. _**

**__****Review, please! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's** **Note**: Hi. I'm back! *ducks for cover* Here is a sixth chaper. I'm very, very, very, very sorry that it has taken me this long. Please forgive me. I can offer many excuses: school, friend drama, work, laziness, and writer's block. They are all true, but I know that shouldn't deter me. I can make no promises about the speed of my next update, though I'm half-way done the next chapter. I appreciate your reviews and PMs urging me to write more truly. If it weren't for you, I would probably abandon Ermelian. Who I am sure would not appreciate it.

**Tortall is created by the Great Mother Goddess, Tamora Pierce. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 **

And I thought mathematics was hard.

I have never been this confused by anything—only algebra and Ermelian of Aminar have puzzled me this much. All right, maybe I'm not confused by Ermelian. Just the whole emotional upheaval.

Maybe that's why I fell in love with Kel. She's good at mathematics: un-confusing things, making them simpler. Except this is one problem that she has complicated. Okay, maybe it's just me who has jumbled everything up in my head and my heart.

I see Kel. I think of Kel. I dream of Kel.

But every so often, it's not Kel. It's Ermelian. Ermelian with her curly dark hair and her wide blue eyes and thick black eyelashes and blushing red cheeks and soft pink lips. The girl who is currently wearing the engagement ring I gave her. At least I hope she is still wearing it. It's funny to hope that that expensive piece of jewelry is still around _her_ finger when I've longed for such a ring to bind Kel to me. But not _that _ring. That ring could never belong to anyone but Ermelian. I wouldn't want anyone else to have it.

And here is where I am confused.

I sigh and lean against the wide door frame.

"I thought such melodramatic sounds only came from Queenscove here," remarks Merric drily. "Am I to assume that next you will be composing a few lines in honor of your dear betrothed's elbow?"

I glare at him but secretly I am grateful to him. Between Hollyrose and Neal, there usually isn't much opportunity to wallow. And I was well aware that I have been wallowing like a Stormwing desecrating a battlefield, and not enjoying it nearly as much as Stormwings enjoy battlefields.

Neal gives Merric a little shove. "I am _not _melodramatic," he huffs. "I simply know to express myself eloquently. Cleon, my boy, I'm afraid you just don't have that same talent." He pats my shoulder gently as if to console me.

"You should have been a Player, Sir Nealan. You're wasting a perfectly good shield trying to be a knight." Lady Yukimi of Queenscove has approached from behind. She grins mischievously at her husband. Even seven months pregnant, I can't help but admire the feisty Yamani beauty.

"My lady, I need that shield to protect me from you. You wound me." Neal grasps at his heart, fluttering his eyes as if he is going to faint.

Merric jerks his thumb towards the entrance. "I heard rumor a group of traveling performers are in Kennan, hoping to be asked to entertain at the engagement celebration."

Yuki raises her eyebrows, her voice serious but her eyes sparkling. "Have they any need for a monkey?"

"Just baboons and buffoons."

"Hmm." She looks Neal up and down, appraising him. "I think I know where I could find something that fits both descriptions."

"You, my wife, are cruel."

I laugh at Neal's pretend scowl, noticing Yuki slide her hand into his and squeeze gently.

"You, my husband, deserve it."

This just what I need; my friends have never let me down. Any moment the family Aminar will arrive, Ermelian in tow, for the banquet my mother has prepared in honor of our engagement. I am jumpy, flinching at the sound of every carriage, every echo of hooves, every creak of the floor. Their teasing of one another is distracting, to a certain degree.

However, the sweet moments of Neal and Yuki make me want to gag sometimes.

"You are worse than the Lioness on a boat in the middle of the Emerald Ocean," observes Neal, prying his eyes off of his wife for a moment.

"You are in a position to know such things," I reply.

"She heaved off the side of the boat from dawn to dawn. If the ship encountered the tiniest wave, my lady's stomach contents became part of the sea," he supplies cheerfully, imitating the sounds his knightmaster must have made as she got sick. "Most rest I ever got during my squire years."

Yuki covers her mouth with her hand and pushes away, her face a little green.

"What's the matter?" asks Merric, watching her run down the hall to find the nearest chamber pot. Neal's brow creases as his eyes follow her, not an undue amount of concern painted across his face.

"The littlest things make her sick these days." He frowns as he trots after her. I know he is going to hold her up, smooth back her hair, and remind her that he loves her, no matter how gross she feels.

Will I ever have to do that some day? I force myself to not think of Kel. Instead, I picture Ermelian bending over a chamber pot emptying her stomach, her face flushed and damp, her stomach round with child. My child. For some reason, my heart begins to thrum a little quicker inside my chest.

"To think there is going to be a miniature of him in this world," Merric comments, his focus still on Neal.

I smile. "Let's hope it's a girl and takes after Yuki."

"From your mouth to Mithros' ears." Merric glances at me sideways. "Perhaps in a little while there will be little Cleons running around."

I refuse to look at him, but try to answer lightly. But the cleverest response I come up with it is "Maybe."

"How is she?"

"'She'?" I ask thoughtlessly.

"You know. The lady Ermelian. Your wife-to-be." Merric's pale blue eyes are not teasing, but are looking at me skeptically.

"She's well, I'm sure. I haven't heard otherwise."

"Haven't heard? Have you spoken to the girl?"

"Not since Corus."

"That's at least two months ago."

I nod.

"You are an idiot."

I nod again.

"I distinctly remember you learning your letters as a page. Couldn't you have borrowed a quill from someone and a piece of parchment and written your intended a letter?"

I shrug.

"You are an idiot," he repeats.

"Why is Kennan an idiot?" Neal has returned.

Merric tells him and Queenscove's green eyes get big.

"Goddess, you _are _an idiot. What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, all right? I didn't think about it." I can feel my temper rising, but I have to hold it back. What they are saying is true. I am an idiot. I wasn't thinking.

No, I _was_ thinking. Every day I was thinking. Back and forth my mind has been going, like a never-ending joust. Blows have been delivered by both opponents, injuries have been sustained. But it never seems to come to a conclusion. The judges in my head won't even declare a draw. It is a fight to the death.

Neal is watching me, his eyes sharp on my face. I was never as close to the son of Baird as Kel is and I am not sure that I want his pity or his understanding.

"Have you even thought about her? Lady Ermelian?" His voice carries no hint of mockery.

"Yes," I snap, because that is the most civil tone of voice I can manage. "Mithros, what kind of monster do you think I am?"

"I wouldn't say you're a monster, Kennan. Just a little bit of a beast. You know, with good intentions but very clumsy in your expression of said intentions."

"We all can't be you," I snarl.

"And thank the Goddess and Mithros and the rest of the gods above for that," Hollyrose adds.

Neal ignores him. "What are you trying to prove with all of this? That you can love someone forever? All you're proving is that you are willing to make yourself miserable until the Black God beckons."

"I'm not trying to—"

"Yes, you are. You can't make yourself let go."

"You don't understand—"

"No, I understand perfectly." Neal's eyes are narrowed and his face is strongly set. He has departed from his usual tricky self. None of the words from his face have been dipped in sarcasm, and the earnestness in his voice is blatant. "You mocked me for my crushes in our page days, and now that I have Yuki I see the humor. But no matter how you all told me to give up, it was hard and I usually couldn't for a while. Sometimes it was because I didn't want to give up on hope. That maybe, just maybe, the girl would notice me. Mithros, sometimes it was simply because you all told me to quit and therefore I wouldn't. You're hoping that by some blessing of the gods, Kel will be the one who you marry because everyone has told you that you must give up on her."

I meet his eyes, and he nods swiftly, crossing his arms as he waits for a reply. I think he may be right. I still dream of the chance to be with Kel and I have been told so many times that I must marry Ermelian as my duty to Kennan. I have never been one to have a rebellious streak, but this romance with Kel is my own rebellion. For the first time in a long time, I did what I wanted, despite what I was required to do. I had never thought of it as a chore before, but doing my duty has become just that, a duty, since I discovered love with Kel. I hadn't objected to my engagement to Ermelian when talk of it had first begun, quite a few years ago. But I hadn't met Kel or gotten to know her or kissed her or…

"Now you're becoming a tragedy queen." Neal rolls his eyes. "All you needed to do what acknowledge I'm right. But I can see now you've gone off in some daydream."

"What exactly are you telling me?"

Merric sighs impatiently at me. "What the Meathead is trying to say is let yourself like Ermelian."

I open my mouth, but am cut off by Neal.

"What in Mithros' name did you just call me?" His voice is laced with faint traces of outrage.

"'Meathead'," Merric replies coolly, returning to me. "_Like_ Ermelian. She's a person—"

"How did you—? Who…who told you—?" Neal splutters. "I'll kill them. They both promised—!"

Merric and I exchanged confused glances.

"Who are you going to kill?" I ask curiously, grateful for the change in conversation.

"Told me what?" inquires Merric. "All I did was call you 'Meathead' because you are acting like a ham with a big head who knows everything. I can come up with original insults on occasion, you dolt."

Neal's brow shoots upwards. "So they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me _what?_"

"Never mind," Neal glowers darkly.

"You can't just not share with us after making death threats."

"I can and I will."

Hollyrose opens his mouth to argue further, but the creak of the main door swinging open and the clatter of feet and the sound of laughter makes me tense and their attention swings towards the sounds.

The door frame I stand within leads into the banquet hall, which has been decorated to please my mother's exact desires.

"Welcome, Lord Asvin, Lady Leona," I hear. And my heart freezes.

I don't think, I just do – I turn and I run out of the room.

I'm not sure where I am going, but I am getting out of here. Far, far away.

Blinded by my panic, my eyes don't seem to be registering what I am seeing or where I am going. I know the way around my home backwards, but if I'm not looking, things sometimes get in the way. I crash into something and find myself tumbling headfirst towards the ground.

"Oof!" I hear from underneath of me.

Suddenly, I am completely aware of my surroundings and I realize I am outside in the courtyard and it's starting to rain.

And I am lying on top of Ermelian of Aminar.

For a moment, I can only stare at her. I mean, I've been in close proximity to her before, but never quite _this_ close. Our faces are level and I can see clear into her blue eyes, which are wide open with shock.

And then I realize that not only are our eyes on level, but our mouths are only inches apart and I can feel her heart hammering in her chest.

"Err—"

"Um—"

I should move. I really should move. Mithros, I need to move.

Her blue eyes are staring straight into mine and I feel like I am falling into them. They remind me of the waters at the coast, different shades of blue overlapping each other. I am drowning in them.

She pushes against me with her hands, trying to get my weight off of her.

Why am I not moving?

* * *

**I humbly ask that you review. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's** **Note**: I know, I suck. But I'm working on it! Here's another chapter.

Tamora Pierce created it, so mote it be.

* * *

_**PREVIOUSLY:** _

_Suddenly, I am completely aware of my surroundings and I realize I am outside in the courtyard and it's starting to rain._

_And I am lying on top of Ermelian of Aminar._

_For a moment, I can only stare at her. I mean, I've been in close proximity to her before, but never quite this close. Our faces are level and I can see clear into her blue eyes, which are wide open with shock._

_And then I realize that not only are our eyes on level, but our mouths are only inches apart and I can feel her heart hammering in her chest._

_"Err—"_

_"Um—"_

_I should move. I really should move. Mithros, I need to move._

_Her blue eyes are staring straight into mine and I feel like I am falling into them. They remind me of the waters at the coast, different shades of blue overlapping each other. I am drowning in them._

_She pushes against me with her hands, trying to get my weight off of her._

_Why am I not moving?_

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

Why is he _not_ moving?

He's crushing me under him and he's just staring at me.

This was not exactly what I was expecting from today.

Father had the carriage sent round to collect us from Aminar early in the morning, preparing for the slow ride to Kennan. My conversation with Annelien was still vibrating through my head as I was bundled into the carriage.

"_Have you asked him about it?" _

"_About what?"_

"_If he _wants_ to marry you." _

My mother chattered the whole way there, speaking of guests and cakes and main courses and fifth courses and dresses and bridesmaids and groomsmen and flowers and music and favors and shoes and traditions and horses and on and on and on and on and on…

And on and on and on and on…

And on and on and on...

And on and on…

And on…

I cannot pretend that I did not partake in these conversations. The flurry of preparation is always exciting. I like decorating things and choosing colors and trying on pretty clothing. I am seventeen and female, after all. Even the Goddess, I am sure, delights in these things.

If I am wrong, please forgive me, O Merciful Mother, for being presumptuous.

But I do not think about what all these plannings entail. I do not think about how the food I was tasting, the gown I was being fitted for, the flowers and music I was choosing would lead to Cleon. I was focusing on the wedding.

Not my marriage. Not the rest of my life.

But as we drove through the fief of Kennan, I could not help but look out my window. These hills, these plains, these streams will be my home. These cows, these sheep, these farmers will be my responsibility and my people.

I will have a duty to them as Cleon has. My duty will be joined to his.

It is a strange word, duty. It is powerful and I am helpless before it. It rankles somewhere deep inside me, as my soul moves to fulfill it.

Our carriage rambled on, over the hills and bridges, as my mother rambled on. Finally, after evening had fallen, we reached the Kennan stronghold. My body rejoiced while my heart sank.

Despite the approaching hostlers and our own footman, Father helped Mother out of the carriage himself, rolling his eyes at me as Mother complained about her aching joints.

"If it weren't so convenient, I'd never travel by carriage again," she declared. "All my parts ache."

"How is your jaw, my darling?" asked Father, offering me his hand.

"My jaw?" She turned and looked at him, confused by the question, her gloved hand automatically going to touch her chin. "It is the least sore of me."

My father's voice was dry. "Surprising, for you never gave it a moment's rest this entire trip."

Mother frowned at Father, who did not see the look as he next helped Annelien descend.

"It is a comfort knowing where Lionel gets it from, sir," Anne grinned at her father-in-law.

"Lionel is beyond me," Father objected, offering me his arm. "He's his own special breed."

My brother, of course, had not paid a wit of attention. "What now, Father? You're not going to offer me a hand out? You've helped all the rest," he pouted, as he jumps down.

"Mithros, preserve me, I didn't know I had _two_ daughters."

We all could not help but laugh, and the tension I felt building about my shoulders eased slightly. But the door of Kennan drew closer, and a wave of panic broke over me. When I enter that door, it seemed, all shall be over—it is the point of no return.

"Excuse me, Father," I removed my arm from his. "I have to get some fresh air before I go in."

"Ermelian—" he began, his voice firm, but I did not wait to hear what he is going to say. I walked briskly away from them.

I knew, then in my heart, I could not face him. I could face his family, his friends even. But I could not face _him_. I am not a knight like he is. I could never be a knight like the women I admire so fiercely. I could never go into battle, go marching into certain death.

I am not ready for all of this. How could I go and look at my husband, not knowing anything about him or his thoughts or his feelings? How could I go, not knowing my own self or my own thoughts or my own feelings? We are to be joined, to be one—yet, know nothing of the other. Do all girls feel this way as they prepare for their lives? Am I the only one who questioning the choices made for me? Or does every other woman worry and wonder the way I am? Are they frightened as I? Are they as confused in their heart as I?

How can I face my father, my brother, knowing what they expect of me and still fail them? How can I face my mother, my sister-in-law, knowing they have survived this and I am too weak? How can I stand face-to-face with Cleon and even greet him?

I was so turned inward, racking my brain, that I had no idea where I am. What brought me back to the surface was my collision with something large. Startled, I fell backwards, the something large falling with me.

It took me a moment to realize that it is a large some_one_ that had fallen on me.

Cleon.

_Why is he not moving? _

He has not changed in the two months that I have not seen him. Granted, all I can truly see is his face, which is very, very close to mine. My heart begins to race randomly and my breathing mysteriously becomes more difficult as I look into his eyes. The grey is choppy, like water that is being stirred up by a great storm, and I am being tossed about, drowning. He blinks and I am free.

Well, except that I am being crushed by him.

"Err—" he says, the air his voice stirs brushing against my lips.

My clever reply is: "um." I would say something much more creative, but I can barely gather enough air to formulate words.

What is he doing? I want to get up. I want to breathe. Why isn't he moving? If someone discovers us like this, I can only imagine the gossip. We are to be married, but nobleman should wait until after the wedding to lie on top of their wives.

I shudder to think that this is not the last time he will be this close to me. I am not sure whether it is a good shudder or a bad one. My heart's pounding thrums quicker.

I am losing air. I push against his chest, trying to get him to move. Why is he staring at me like that? Doesn't he remember that he's supposed to ignore me? What is _wrong_ with him? It's starting to rain, and though I have other dresses to change into, I don't want to ruin this one.

"Get off!" I snap, the frustration building up inside of me finding release in my words.

He blinks. "Oh. _Oh_!" Hurriedly, awkwardly, he stumbles backwards, off of me, landing on his backside in a shallow puddle. I sit up and my lungs expand, hungrily taking in the air.

He stands up, brushing uselessly at the water. The breath that had not been in my body comes faster, and my heart continues to pound.

"Um, well, hullo," he says, his eyes anxiously scooting everywhere. I just stare at him. What does he expect me to say back? _Hello. Lovely to see you._ His mouth crooks upward, as if he too realizes the ridiculousness of it all. I find myself smiling in return. And then we are laughing together.

He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet after we both have calmed down.

"I, uh, should, err – I suppose I ought to apologize," he says, his hand behind his head, his expression sheepish.

"It's all right," I reply. There's not much else I can say. It is an awkward moment that I could carry on and on about, but in the grand scheme of things, under Mithros and the Goddess, what does it truly matter?

A silence descends as we stare at each other. A million thoughts and questions are in my head, one of which ponders what is going on between his ears. We are awkward, but it is not uncomfortable. Is this how it is to be our whole lives? Awkward, but not uncomfortable. It could be worse, I reason.

But it could be better.

"How have you been?" I ask. If anything is to be done, I must do it. I know more about this man than I thought.

Cleon's eyes widen slightly, as if he is surprised, then he smiles, as if he is not. "I've been well. You?"

"The same."

"Well?"

"Yes."

We stand there, silence falling again. The only sound is the steady drizzle of rain.

_All the gods above, help me_, I pray.

"Shall we go inside?" Cleon asks, gesturing towards the castle.

"Only if we don't want to get wet."

He grins humorously, acknowledging the dampness of his hose. "It may be too late for that."

I smile back as he offers his arm. I take it gently, barely letting my hand press against the material of his shirt. We say nothing to one another as he escorts me away from the courtyard. I am grateful to note that we do not enter through that intimidating front entrance.

He ushers me into a side door, which leads into a long corridor. He gestures to the right. "Your family is through here."

I nod, but make no movement in that direction. "What's there?" I nod, indicating to the left. The hallway is poorly lit so I cannot make out what is there.

"The kitchens," Cleon answers.

"Can we go look?" I ask. I'm not sure why I'm asking to go into the kitchens of Kennan. Honestly, I am not interested by the kitchens. But my desire to avoid the rest of the manor kindles a desire to see anywhere else.

Cleon looks down at me, his frown furrowed. Then, perhaps, there is a look of understanding in his eyes. He gives me a crooked grin that is somehow gentle. "Not now, Ermelian," he whispers conspiratorially "I don't think our mothers wouldn't appreciate it."

I smile back at him, but my heart is pounding. "After the number of times this has been put off," I agree, "I doubt any distraction would be treated kindly."

Why is my heart hammering so?

Cleon shudders. "My mother would have my head if it weren't that without it, we couldn't be married."

_How are we doing this so easily_? I wonder as we fall into step, laughing about our mothers' insatiable desire to get us to the altar.

We are nearing the hall and I can hear my mother's laugh echoing off the walls, mingled with my father's chuckle and Lionel's bray and Anne's giggle. There are other voices and laughs, which must belong to Lady Gaia and her daughter—but who are the others?

We enter the room and I answer my question. Cleon's friends: Sir Merric and Sir Nealan. Next to Sir Nealan is a woman. Her face and beauty are striking, even as her belly betrays her expecting status. She is not Tortallan; her hair and complexion are not common. I think she may be Yamani or Kyprian. There is another man and woman that I do not know – but there is something very familiar about the knight. I assume he is a knight, because of the straight posture and the broad shoulders. This stance is not what is familiar, but the man's features: his dusty brown hair and hazel-green eyes framed by long lashes. The woman by his side is probably his wife, for her arm is clasped through his. While not a candle could she hold to the foreign lady, she is well-looking with rosy cheeks, twinkling brown eyes, and curling blonde hair.

Everyone turns and sees Cleon and me together. Immediately, the reactions are of disbelief, smugness, and suggestion: where were those two? I see the question. I cannot help but blush.

Cleon clasps his free hand over mine and squeezes gently. In reassurance? I don't look at him, because I know that that will just feed the fire. But I tighten my grip on the arm that my hand is curled around, ignoring the queer feeling rustling in my stomach.

The pause deepens, as the crowd surveys us, waiting for us to say something. And we stare back, daring them to say something. I know that they have noticed our damp clothing.

Lady Gaia clears her throat. "Well, there you are! Lady Ermelian, I do hope that you haven't caught cold in your attempt to stretch your legs."

"I'm not too cold, thank you, ma'am," I reply, smiling slightly.

"I hate carriage rides," Cleon's sister declares, crossing to stand next to me. "I can barely stand to sit still for so long. I think I'll go mad when stuck in those traps." In three steps, the girl has brought Cleon and me into the circle. I smile at her gratefully, feeling slightly intimidated by how high up I have to look—she is but half a head shorter than her brother. This is the first time I've truly noticed her. We've been introduced, but I never can remember her name. She and Cleon are clearly related, with the same bright hair and the same grey eyes. "If I were you, I would have run to Aminar and back before I felt sufficiently better."

"Even in this rain?" my mother asks, her eyes flying to the tall windows where we can all see the rain pelting downwards.

"Even in this rain," Cleon's sister laughs.

"Oh my," my mother whispers. Father and I catch each other's eyes, and I must smother a laugh.

Lady Gaia shakes her head at her daughter, a look of resignation on her face. "You must forgive Calleen. She—"

"Mother." Calleen—that was her name!—shot her mother a look. "Let's not list the categories of faults I have tonight. Perhaps you'd like to introduce your soon-to-be daughter-in-law to the present company."

I could almost feel the tension in the room build and collapse in the matter of seconds it existed. There is something here, between the mother and daughter. I looked up tentatively at Cleon, whose brows were furrowed with worry as he looked between the women in his life.

"I've had the pleasure of meeting Sirs Nealan and Merric," I answer, keeping my voice as light as possible. Merric bows politely, as Nealan grins cheekily. "But I've not met anyone else."

"The pleasure was all mine, completely," Nealan smirks as he crosses across the circle to kiss my hand. "You do not need to be polite to pretend you remember _that_," he gestured at Merric, "when we all know you did not."

Merric buries an elbow in Nealan's side. "She probably tried desperately to forget you. Thank you, my lady," he addresses me.

"Enough, you two," chides Lady Gaia, but her tone is that of fondness.

"Lady Ermelian, may I present Lady Yukimi of Queenscove, Sir Nealan's wife. She is originally from the Yamani Isles."

"It is wonderful to meet you, Lady Yukimi." I curtsey.

She smiles at me, bobbing herself as best as possible given her condition. "As it is for me you." Her smile changes from kind to mischievous. I immediately see why she and Nealan are a matched pair. "Call me Yuki, please. And welcome to the wives' club."

"Wives' club?" I ask.

"We have a support group for those of us married to this rowdy crowd," she winks at me.

"Oh," is all I can say. I laugh, and it is only a little forced. "Well then, Yuki, call me Meli and let me know when the first meeting is."

Lady Yukimi, Yuki's smile grows on her face. "Probably the moment after you find yourself sworn before the gods to Kennan, Meli. If you don't run away down the aisle, you are initiated."

The women giggle, as do I. I sneak a glance upward at Cleon, who is making faces at Neal across the group.

Lady Gaia pushes forward with the introductions, showing her amusement with the younger crowd only through the twinkling of her eyes.

"And this is Sir Inness of Mindelan, and his wife, the lady Tilaine. Sir Inness was Cleon's knight master."

Mindelan! No wonder he looks so familiar! His sister looks so similar!

"It's a true pleasure to meet you, Sir Inness. Lady Tilaine."

"And you as well, Lady Ermelian," Sir Inness murmurs as he responds to my curtsey with his tidy bow.

"Lady Ermelian," Lady Tilaine bobs. She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling brightly. She looks like the type who could talk your ear off. Yet her mouth clamps down after that and she nervously bites her lip.

A silence descends as the formality has been finished. _What next?_ I wonder, praying to the Goddess the topic won't move back to the dripping clothing Cleon and I are wearing.

Which reminds me that my clothing is dripping, and starting to become very uncomfortable.

"Well," my brother breaks the silence, "aren't you going to introduce me?" His arrogant tone is interrupted by a small noise of pain as Annelien pinches his arm. "What was that for?"

I sigh. "Sir Lionel, it is always a pleasure to be in your company, as long as your wife is there as well to monitor your behavior." I enjoy teasing him in public, for it is one of the rare places I get away with it. My mother does not tolerate anything that could be misconstrued as a sign of familial division. Indeed, her glance now is disparaging, but all she can do in present company is laugh weakly along.

"I hope that your future husband will also be of service to us in the same way as my lady," Lionel replies, laughing easily.

"Lionel, Ermelian," chastises Mother, unable to bear it. "Everyone will be of the opinion that the two of you are fools who do little but berate and tease each other."

"Leona, my darling," Father interjects, "that is not an opinion, but fact." Before Mother can scoff, he continues: "But it does get tedious. Let us move on to the reason we are gathered here. Lady Gaia." He inclines his head at the hostess.

"Ever wise, Lord Asvin. Shall we all retire to the parlor for tea? The servants are just about finished airing your rooms for the evening. Don't worry about your travelling things. There is enough fuss with the celebration tomorrow to worry about a little road dust."

All the other guests murmur in agreement and make small movements that indicate a preparation: a gathering of skirts, a shifting of posture, ladies laying their arms through the crook of their husband's elbow. I stifle a low moan, for I can feel gooseflesh rising all over my skin, and I'm starting to shiver.

"Perhaps, Mother," interrupts Calleen, "I should show Lady Ermelian to her room. I'm sure she and my brother must be in want of dry clothing."

"Oh! Merciful Mother! Forgive me, my dear Ermelian! You must be dreadfully uncomfortable in those wet things. Thank you, Calleen, for being a proper hostess. Yes, upstairs go the both of you."

"Thank you, Lady Gaia," I sigh gratefully.

"I can't have you catching cold," my future mother-in-law presses my hand warmly, "Why, tomorrow's your engagement party! And the wedding is coming quickly! Your health is the upmost importance!"

With the efficiency of a Knight Commander, Lady Gaia guides the other guests towards refreshments and relaxation, leaving me alone to climb the staircase, sandwiched between her two red-haired offspring.

"Well, that was wonderful," Calleen chortles, clearly insincere.

"Cal…" said Cleon, his tone full of warning.

"Mithros, Cleon. She's a part of our family now. She'll know all this soon enough."

Goddess, I realize that I am she. Without thinking, my grip on Cleon's arm spasms, tightening my grip on his bicep.

"That doesn't mean you need to throw her in without at least letting me warn her?"

Calleen tosses her ruddy head. "When have I ever done something easy for someone else?"

"Please."

Her eyes and mouth soften as his plea. She turns her attention to me. "I'm the difficult one in this family, Ermelian."

"There's one in every family," I reply stupidly, without thinking. I clap my free hand over my mouth, closing my eyes in embarrassment. There is no polite reply to her declaration, but the best response from me should have been silence.

Cleon's sister surprises me by throwing back her head and laughing. "Oh, I like you. Brother, I would congratulate you on your choice, but I know that you've had about as much as choice as the Giant-killer does when His Highness orders him to a social. But, by Mithros' shield, if she's got a humor, then you've been blessed with luck."

I look up at Cleon, still blushing from the mortification that I've stepped out of politeness. Does he think he is lucky?

Do _I_ think that _I_ am lucky?

His eyes meet mine tentatively. I am afraid of what look he will wear, but it is not hard, or guarded, or cold. It is simple, and he slowly smiles.

"I think the gods have been good to me."

My heart skips a beat.

…Lucky.

"Oh, ugh," Calleen pretends to gag, "do not try to romance her now. She's cold and wet. Her immunity to charm, no matter if it is as pathetic as yours, is probably just low enough to feel swept off her feet by you."

Cleon glares at his sister. "Calleen, if my charm is pathetic, then yours is atrocious."

"We are related, after all."

I wonder if others feel this way when they observe Lionel and I match wits; though, theirs seems to be an all-out battle. There is a building tension here, like a fire ember that's been in the heat for a long while. The identical pairs of grey eyes are hurling unspoken words.

I do not know what to do. We are standing in a corridor, and I hope that behind one of these doors is my trunk with piles of lovely, dry clothing. My teeth are beginning to chatter, and I have little control over my shivering.

Cleon notices the quivering of my grasp on his arm. "Enough. Cal, I will show Ermelian to her room. You go on downstairs."

"No. You've got to change yourself. We must keep up with propriety, after all. She's not yours yet."

Calleen smiles at her brother mischievously. She slips her arm through my elbow and pulls. Automatically, Cleon grabs tighter. I can feel the strength each has, surprising on the sister's part. Now, I am between the tension. I could get literally pulled apart. I look up at Cleon with a plea.

"Let go, brother." Her voice is softer. "I won't scare her tonight."

"You mean no more than you already have?"

That snappish comment comes from me. I am cold and tired and already in my own emotional spiral. I do not want to stand hear any more in this silent game of tug.

I cannot help but frown darkly when Calleen laughs again. Others making merry at my cranky expense is never a pleasure.

"No more than we already have. Come along, Ermelian."

I am escorted down the corridor by Calleen, who, praise be to all the gods, spoke nary a word. I took the time to note my surroundings—after all, this was to be my home. It is built out of beautiful stone, windows cut just so often to allow light to illuminate the areas without destroying all sense of mystery. Wooden beams arch over the hallway intermittently, supporting the structure. It is a wonderful building.

But I cannot help but notice that the typical decorations one would expect in the seat of a barony are missing. There are no stern portraits, no embroidered tapestries, no elegant tables, no floral arrangements—nothing to enhance or decorate or display.

As if my future sister-in-law can read my mind, she explains the emptiness. "Mother sold and pawned off much to support our folk. Here's your room for the evening."

"My dowry will go towards restoring the house?" I ask frankly.

Calleen was mid-gesture at a door, when her look changed dramatically. "Mithros, what kind of people do you think we Kennan are?"

I blink. I hadn't meant to offend.

"Your dowry is going to be put towards re-building dams, and building grain stores on higher ground, and paying for the import of food onto our fief to feed our people. _We _are not self-centered. _We_ do our _duty_ and put our people first. Paintings and pretties are all well and good, but not at the cost of empty bellies and poverty, Lady Ermelian! If you didn't know that before you agreed to become a member of the house of Kennan, you damn well better learn it." She is angry, and her eyes are darkening like a storm breaking.

I am tired. I am cranky. And for the sake of the Goddess of all, I am still wet!

"I wasn't trying to imply anything of the sort," I snap back. "I asked a simple question. Once I marry your brother, I may not have complete control of my funds, but I'd like to know what's going on. And I'm glad it's going to people that need it. I'd prefer it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am done listening to you rip into whoever you are talking to. I need to change before I die from the cold and then it will be too bad for you, because you shan't get any money for poverty—or for pretties."

I open the door and slam it in Calleen's stunned face.

I do not think that I like Cleon's sister.

I close my eyes, breathe in and out through my nose. When I am calm enough, I open my eyes and locate my trunk. I remove clean, dry clothing. Mother would want me to put on something prettier, but I want nothing less than a corset. So, my secret favorite, my plain green dress, is selected.

I am moving quickly—first, to get warm; second, to get downstairs as quickly as possible to assure that I can be as far away from my sister-in-law as possible.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Go away!" I snap, sliding the simple petticoat over my hips.

Knock, knock, knock.

I do not have my overdress on, just the stockings and petticoat and chemise. But I do not care what the daughter of Kennan sees me dressed in.

"What in Mithros' name do you want?" I practically snarl as I fling the door open.

It is not Calleen who stands at the door, but Cleon.

"Oh," I gasp, the heat of embarrassment shooting up my neck to my face.

His face is just as red as mine as he gapes at me in my state of undress. The tape on my chemise is not tied, and anyone with eyes can see bare skin peaking through.

"I—I—I…" we both stutter together.

He coughs. "I wanted to—to—talk to—explain, but, erm, maybe I—you should—"

I whirl around so that my back is to him, quickly lacing up the chemise with fumbling fingers. _I cannot believe that Cleon has seen me in my chemise! _I snatch the dark green overdress and draw it over my shoulders, tying the bodice of it too. _He is going to be your husband soon enough,_ my mind whispers. _He'll see that…and more. _Somehow that makes my fingers twist clumsier.

Finally, my breathing has returned to normal and I turn, slowly, to face Cleon.

"I am sorry," he says quickly. "I should have announced myself."

"I accept your apology," I murmur, feeling the flush creep back up. "I should have asked who it was and not assumed it was…well…" I don't want to let Cleon know that his sister has irked me towards displeasure.

"Calleen?"

Or maybe he already knows.

"That's why I came. I wanted to…explain my sister." He leans against the doorframe. He sighs heavily, then looks me straight on. It is this look that continuously changes the pattern of my breathing. "I've never really talked to anyone about this, but since you're to be her sister as well, you should have warning."

"Are you sure you want to tell me?" This sounds like an ominous conversation. I step forward towards him. "You mustn't think you have to."

"Ah, but I do _have_ to tell you," he replies frankly. He crooks a small, self-conscious, hopeful smile. "Besides, I want to."

He wants to.

Cleon looks over his shoulder, for any sign of other life, I assume; he then steps into the room. He swings the door almost close, leaving just enough of an opening that would discourage thought that inappropriateness was occurring.

"Calleen—my sister, well, she… she is very headstrong. She can be very…difficult. Which you certainly had to have noticed."

He looks at me, waiting for affirmation. I nod, because I can't deny it.

"She likes to push as many limits as possible. Sometimes, I think she should have been born a boy. That way she could be a knight and go hack her problems out on Scanrans and other enemies of the crown. The Daughters at the convent hated her, because she fought them. She doesn't want to be a lady. She wants to be a knight, but Mother wouldn't let her train." He pauses, gathers breath again. "Mother, I think, hoped that Calleen would make an advantageous marriage, one that would help pull us out of debt. Calleen went and joined the Riders."

"Can she be married and a Rider?"

He raises one eyebrow skeptically. It is a stupid question. If Calleen had joined the Queen's Ladies, a noble marriage would still be very possible. While there are still quite a few families who did not like the idea, much like the betrothed of Allegra of Linshart, it is much more acceptable than to be a Rider.

The Riders are common, with mixed genders and social statuses. A noble daughter joining the Riders had little prospect to find a man of an equal or higher status willing for marriage. Among the nobility, having a relative in the Riders usually is viewed as a disgrace.

"I don't remember her at convent school," I tell Cleon, thinking that I would have known of her, or at least heard of her.

"She studied with the Daughters in Tusaine. Mother could already tell that she was…unique, and thought it best to send her away."

A pang hits my heart, and I pity Calleen. A mother who sent her daughter that far away? Because she feared that her daughter would gain a reputation? Lady Gaia has always seemed formidable and economical, but is it to the extent that her children are pawns? Will I become a piece for her manipulation as well?

"Mother and Calleen do not often see eye-to-eye. Mother prefers to keep it from public knowledge, and Calleen doesn't care. I'm usually in the middle." He looks down at his fingers. "It'll be nice to have someone to talk about it with." His glance upward is hopeful and shy. "I love them, Meli. But it's hard to please both of them."

Instinctively, I reach out and touch his palm. "Everything will work out," I say soothingly. My fingers do not tremble, but my insides do as I realize he has used my nickname.

We can be friends, I realize belatedly. We are allies.

A slow, sincere smile spreads across his face. "I hope so."

"Well, this looks cozy. The Baron and his future Baroness."

Calleen is standing in the doorway, smirking at us. There is nothing in our posture that suggests anything inappropriate, but both Cleon and I jump back from each other.

"Mother is anxious that her new daughter join the company, for who else is she to brag about? She's used up all your adventures, Cleon."

"Then we musn't keep her waiting," I reply evenly. I raise an eyebrow at Cleon, who seems to takes my cue and offers me his arm. Together we sweep past his sister, and towards the parlor.

My face is serene as I have been taught to be, even as I glimpse at Calleen's expression.

Cleon may be right in thinking that his sister's headstrong attitude and resentment govern her behavior, but I think that there is something else that is burning her.

I have never fought against the path set before me. I am about to become her well-bred sister-in-law, the lady daughter she couldn't be for her mother, the daughter that brings the means to salvation that she couldn't provide for her home.

I cannot help but think that Calleen of Kennan either resents me or is jealous of me.

* * *

**Review, please! **

**I know Cleon and Meli didn't kiss. ****But there is a kiss in the near future, I promise ;) **


End file.
